The drowned lands of Saeftinghe
In the marshy delta where the Schelde River surrenders to the North Sea, there once lay a realm of prosperity: Saeftinghe. A jewel of the Lowlands, this region boasted lush green fields that stretched endlessly, filled with windmills and canals. Its towns buzzed with trade, their markets laden with goods from faraway lands. Ships carrying silks, spices, and grains passed through its thriving port, the heart of a land seemingly blessed by fortune. The people of Saeftinghe lived surrounded by riches, their wealth reflected in grand houses, towering church spires, and the lavish feasts that echoed within their halls.
But beneath this abundance lurked an air of impending doom. The tides of the Schelde, the very lifeblood of Saeftinghe’s prosperity, whispered warnings carried on the salty wind. For while Saeftinghe’s people reveled in their wealth, they turned a blind eye to the fragile balance with the sea. The legend of Saeftinghe, now a haunting tale passed down through generations, is one of human arrogance, unchecked greed, and the unstoppable, vengeful force of nature. A story as timeless as the tides themselves.
The Golden Age of Saeftinghe
During the High Middle Ages, Saeftinghe stood as a shining example of human ingenuity and prosperity. Nestled within a fertile, low-lying region protected by a meticulously engineered system of dikes and waterways, the land was a green jewel in the crown of the Lowlands. Its vast fields of wheat and rye fed the surrounding regions, while its sprawling trade network connected Saeftinghe to the bustling markets of England, Flanders, and the Baltic. At its heart lay a vibrant port town, a hub of commerce where ships arrived laden with spices, silks, and exotic wares, their crews greeted by the constant hum of trade.
Saeftinghe’s wealth flowed from its command of the Schelde River, a vital artery for trade. The town’s leaders demanded payment from every ship that passed. Merchants and nobles thrived in this golden age, building beautiful homes with grand decorations. Their homes were rivaled only by the towering church whose bells could be heard echoing across the countryside. Mills turned steadily on the horizon, and the air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and success.
But prosperity has a way of corrupting the heart. As the coffers of Saeftinghe swelled, so too did the arrogance of its people. Their wealth bred a sense of invincibility, a belief that their dikes were unbreachable, their riches eternal. The once-pious community abandoned the reverence they had once shown for the land and the sea. They looked down upon their neighbors, scoffing at the struggling villages along the Schelde. Toll rates were raised to even greater levels, squeezing every last coin from passing merchants and sailors. The Schelde, once seen as a sacred lifeline, was transformed into a tool of exploitation.
To capture a mermaid
One fateful day, the fishermen of Saeftinghe set out early, their nets gliding through the silver waters of the Schelde under the soft morning light. The sea had been generous to them, filling their holds with fish that brought prosperity to their tables. But on this particular morning, their catch was unlike anything they had ever seen. As they hauled their nets aboard, something gleamed and thrashed against the woven strands—a mermaid.
Her scales shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting shades of green and gold that seemed otherworldly. Her mournful eyes, deep and knowing, pleaded silently as her voice broke into melodic cries. Legends of the Schelde’s waters had long whispered of mermaids, harbingers of fortune or doom. The fishermen, opportunistic as they were, saw the creature as a prize.
Ignoring her pleas, they dragged her ashore and paraded her through the streets of Saeftinghe. The townsfolk quickly gathered, their curiosity and arrogance outweighing any sense of compassion. Crowds filled the market square, elbowing their way closer for a glimpse of the captured creature. The mermaid’s cries, haunting and melodic, echoed across the port for all to hear. The people of Saeftinghe jeered and mocked her. Children threw stones, and the bolder among the crowd dared to prod her with sticks. Laughter rippled through the square…
The curse of the sea
As the mermaid’s sorrow turned to despair, the waters of the Schelde began to churn ominously. Without warning, her husband emerged from the depths—a merman of immense size and power. His upper body, sculpted like a warrior’s, gleamed with the sheen of the sea, while his lower half, a powerful tail, churned the river’s waters into frothy waves. His booming voice thundered across the town, silencing the mocking crowd.
“Release her!” he roared, his tone carrying the weight of the ocean’s fury. “She is not yours to claim. Free her now, or the sea shall rise to reclaim what your greed has stolen!”
But the people of Saeftinghe, drunk on their own arrogance, dismissed the merman’s warning. They laughed at his threats, pointing to their towering dikes and boasting of their invulnerability. “Let the sea try,” they sneered. “We have conquered it before; we will conquer it again!”
The merman’s fury turned cold and calculating. With a piercing gaze, he locked eyes with his captive wife. Through her tears, she seemed to understand what was coming. In one fluid motion, she broke free—or was released by the crowd’s unease, depending on the tale. As her tail splashed into the river, her husband spoke the words that would seal Saeftinghe’s fate:
“Pride comes before the fall. Your wealth, your land, your arrogance—they shall sink into the depths all. Saeftinghe shall be swallowed by the sea, and none will weep for thee.”
The curse echoed across the town, carried by the wind like a dark prophecy. Some say the waters of the Schelde turned unnaturally still after his words, as if the river itself were holding its breath. The people of Saeftinghe, still laughing nervously, returned to their daily lives, but the mermaid’s cries and her husband’s curse lingered in the air, a silent prelude to the catastrophe that would soon unfold.
For those who believed the warnings, it was already too late. The doom of Saeftinghe had been written in the tides.
Turning the tide
At first, Saeftinghe seemed impervious to the mermaid’s curse. Merchants laughed over full ledgers, ships continued to dock with treasures from distant lands, and the grand church bells rang every Sunday, echoing through the town like a promise of invincibility. The merman’s threats became a punchline, a story whispered with amusement over mugs of ale. Life in Saeftinghe marched on, gilded and proud.
Then the tides shifted—not slowly, but suddenly and violently. The Schelde, once a lifeblood of trade, turned sinister. Without warning, the first storm struck, its winds howling like a wrathful god. The dikes groaned and shuddered under the relentless assault. Waves crashed over the embankments, dragging away earth and stone. A breach formed in the defenses—not a trickle, but a gaping wound that sent saltwater pouring into the fields, leaving devastation in its wake.
The townsfolk acted quickly, patching the dike with haste and confidence. But no sooner had the breach been mended than another storm arrived, fiercer than the last. The winds tore through the town, scattering rooftops like leaves. Entire stretches of dikes collapsed as waves surged through, swallowing homes and farmland. Each storm seemed to grow in intensity, as if the sea itself were rising in anger.
The final blow
The change was too sudden to ignore, but the people of Saeftinghe clung stubbornly to their wealth and pride. “The storms will pass,” they told one another, even as saltwater crept closer to the heart of their town. The merchants rebuilt their stores, the farmers attempted to salvage their crops, and the bells continued to toll—but now their sound was drowned out by the roar of the tides.
Then came the final blow. A monstrous storm, unlike anything they had seen, descended upon Saeftinghe. The winds screamed, the sea surged, and the dikes crumbled in a single, catastrophic collapse. Waves rushed in like an invading army, consuming everything in their path. The grand church, the bustling port, the proud houses of merchants—all disappeared beneath the wrathful waters. The cries of the townsfolk were swallowed by the roar of the Schelde as it reclaimed the land.
The fall of Saeftinghe was as swift as it was total. What had once been a beacon of prosperity vanished overnight, leaving only the ghostly echoes of what once was. Some say the bells of the sunken church still toll beneath the waves, a mournful reminder of the pride and hubris that led to Saeftinghe’s doom.
A historic note
Historical records reveal that the demise of Saeftinghe was not only the stuff of legends but also a grim chapter in the history of the Low Countries. During the Eighty Years’ War (1568–1648), a brutal conflict between the Dutch and the Spanish Habsburgs, the fertile and prosperous lands of Saeftinghe found themselves caught in the crossfire. The region’s strategic location near the Schelde River made it both an asset and a liability, as its waterways served as vital routes for trade—and for invading armies.
To halt the advancing Spanish forces, the Dutch resorted to a desperate but devastating strategy: they deliberately breached the dikes that protected Saeftinghe, unleashing the sea upon their own lands. These man-made floods were intended to create impassable marshes and waterlogged terrain, stalling the Spanish army’s progress. While effective militarily, this tactic left the dikes of Saeftinghe weakened and the land vulnerable to the tides.
The final blow came in 1584, when a massive storm surge struck the already compromised region. Towering waves and relentless winds battered the coast, overwhelming the fragile dikes and tearing through the heart of Saeftinghe. On that fateful day, the church bells rang out one last time as a warning to the people, but their tolls were drowned out by the roaring sea. The floodwaters surged through villages, sweeping away homes, farms, and lives. Entire communities vanished beneath the waves, leaving behind only desolation and death.
To those who believed in the legend, this catastrophic event was the fulfillment of the mermaid’s curse. The once-proud and wealthy Saeftinghe was swallowed by the very waters that had provided its prosperity, consumed by its arrogance and disregard for the warnings of nature. The Schelde reclaimed its domain, leaving behind a drowned landscape of mudflats and salt marshes.
Even today, the legend lingers. Fishermen and visitors to the Drowned Land of Saeftinghe claim that, on stormy nights, the bells of the sunken church can still be heard tolling faintly beneath the waves—a ghostly reminder of the town’s pride and its ultimate downfall. The cries of the lost, some say, echo faintly through the marshes, carried by the winds that sweep across the desolate landscape. Saeftinghe, once a beacon of prosperity, now serves as a haunting testament to the fragile line between human ambition and the unforgiving power of nature.